


Things That Go Bump in the Night

by Spencer5460



Category: Starsky & Hutch
Genre: Angst, Camping, Established Relationship, Gen, Hurt Starsky, lost souls - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-11
Updated: 2018-04-11
Packaged: 2019-04-21 14:07:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14286570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spencer5460/pseuds/Spencer5460
Summary: Starsky could make out a young man barely out of his teens.  “What if he doesn’t come?” He said at long last. The man was no more of a seasoned outdoorsman than Starsky. More like a lost soul.“He’ll come.” Starsky said between gritted teeth.“How can you be sure?  What if he doesn’t really care what happens to you?”





	Things That Go Bump in the Night

Starsky moved closer to the rocky overlook. He wanted one last perfect shot. The sun was slipping behind the far range of mountains, crowning them with a golden glow no city skyline could replicate. He’d almost come to enjoy these forays into nature that Hutch periodically dragged him to, not that he was ready to admit it. Sleeping under a starlit sky, toasting a marshmallow on a stick over an open flame, then sucking its gooey sweetness from your fingers, or even sitting in companionable silence waiting for a fish to bite, sure beat going over a crime scene in all its gory detail. 

As Starsky focused his Nikon once more at the majestic view, a sudden heaviness pulled at him. An almost physical sensation of sadness and regret. Of lost opportunity. He shook it off. Hutch was back at the cabin grilling up black bean burgers. Starsky smiled at the thought. If Fate paid any attention to his partner’s devotion to health, they might live forever, premonitions be damned. 

Only a few more shots, Starsky told himself. He had climbed up the trail known as ‘Skyline’ further than usual as he’d played with different exposures and vantage points. The colors of the evening sky were mesmerizing, but the light was quickly fading and he hadn’t thought to bring a flashlight. Hutch would grouse if his burger burned; gleefully tease him for being a greenhorn if he got lost.

As it rested on the crest of a mountain, a remaining sliver of sun seemed to wink at him conspiratorially. Starsky turned his attention to readjusting the appurature of his camera. Too late, he realized he'd come dangerously close to the edge of the drop off. A tennis shoe slid on the loose ground and he lost his balance. Unable to catch himself, he tumbled roughly down the rocky grade, limbs flailing as he went. The hillside was steeper than it had looked in the waning light. 

Starsky heard a sickening snap and a white hot agony shot through his leg. When he came to a stop, his leg was twisted grotesquely beneath him. _Shit._ He didn’t need a medic to tell him that something had broken inside. 

Starsky tried to straighten his legs and the immense effort it took cost him dearly. He cried out in pain and tears sprang to his eyes. Any further movement might make him pass out. He lay back panting and for a few brief seconds was grateful no one was around to see such a hard nosed cop react so pathetically. Blood soaked through the leg of his jeans where bone had pierced skin. It needed to be repositioned and the bleeding stopped as soon as possible. 

Hutch would come looking for him, of course he would. But would he get to him in time? It would be hours certainly, perhaps even days before help might arrive. He’d be lucky to survive, luckier still to keep his leg if he wasn’t found soon -- as important to a detective as his sidearm. And what good would he be to Hutch with only one leg?

Starsky took some calming breaths to get the nearly unbearable pain - and his rushing thoughts - under control. He knew better than to panic but it was hard not to. He looked around for something he might use to help himself up. A rock, a branch. There was nothing for yards. His beloved Nikon lay battered in the dirt. 

Darkness began to close in on him like a blanket being pulled across the sky. Or a curtain closing.

ooOOoo

Hutch checked in his travel case for his grandfather’s pocket watch, the only timepiece at the cabin. Time here had never particularly mattered. There were no alarms to wake them, no time cards to punch. In fact, the less they paid attention to the passing hours, the more they were able to enjoy them. Starsky had taken to leaving his expensive wrist-watch behind, and once they unpacked their camping gear, it was an unspoken rule: they’d sleep when they were tired, eat when they were hungry, explore the outdoors to their heart's’ content. 

Hutch had waited for a while, but then had gone ahead and eaten dinner without Starsky. Veggie burgers were best eaten fresh from the grill. If he'd waited much longer, they’d grow dry and flavorless. Something Starsky would just have to deal with once he got back from his extended photographic expedition.

The pocket watch said 8 p.m. Starsky had been gone over three hours. Hutch didn’t know if he should be pleased that Starsky really seemed to have started enjoying their treks into nature or be aggravated that he’d missed the dinner Hutch had enthusiastically prepared. A frisson of unease entered him. He was glad he’d put fresh batteries in the flashlight he'd brought. Next time he’d pack two.

Hutch cleaned the dishes, adjusted the logs in the fireplace and put a match to the kindling. It was going to be chilly night. He assured himself once more that Starsky would be back soon. 

ooOOoo

The pain in his leg had become constant and excruciating. Starsky had given up trying to get comfortable. As the temperature dropped, his slight shivers had become teeth rattling. His breathing was rapid and shallow, his skin cold and clammy. He didn’t need to feel for his heart rate to know he was drifting into shock. He mustered all his energy to call out into the darkness, “Huuutch!” as he had dozens of times before, but the response was the same. An almost eerie quiet.

Starsky tried to focus on listening for any sound that might indicate searchers were nearby - footfalls or voices however faint. He thought he heard something slither nearby and recalled that the area was home to rattlesnakes and other unfriendlies. He and Hutch had seen one sunning itself by the lake just the other day and had steered well clear of it. ‘They’ll only strike if they’re startled, Starsk,’ Hutch had reassured him in his oddly condescending way, a quirk that was uniquely off-putting yet endearing at the same time. Starsky saw through Hutch’s need to prove himself competent, and was only too happy to oblige. Perhaps because Hutch had a way of making Starsky feel braver than he had a right to. 

“Hutch,” Starsky said again, but this time it was barely a whisper. He moaned, not holding it back. Why bother? There was no one around to judge him in his weakness.

Agonizing hours passed. Starsky’d lost track of time but a lightening of the sky in the east made him think morning couldn’t be far off. A bird flapped its wings overhead and Starsky followed its trajectory. At the top of the ridge near the spot where he’d fallen, he thought he saw the shadowy human shape. Maybe his mind had become muzzy. Was he hallucinating? Or was someone really up there?

“Help!” Starsky croaked. He watched the shadow resolve into the form a man. “My leg is broken. Help me!” Starsky called again, his hope soaring, then falling as his would-be rescuer didn’t respond. Yet neither did he move away.

“Look,” Starsky said, gasping. “You don’t have to climb down here. Just get my partner. Ken Hutchinson. He’s at a cabin by the lake - number 36 - about a mile or so down Skyline Trail.” The exertion of shouting left him breathless and dizzy.

Starsky thought again that perhaps he was hallucinating. But a soft light began to illuminate the apparition and Starsky could make out a young man barely out of his teens. Yes, he was sure of it.

“What if he doesn’t come?” the shadowy form spoke up at long last. Starsky squinted up at him and could make out that thick dark hair fell into his eyes and an over-sized army fatigue jacket enveloped his thin frame. His well-worn jeans ended at what looked like heavy leather boots - more suitable for riding motorcycles than hiking. The man was no more of a seasoned outdoors man than Starsky. More like a lost soul.

“He’ll come.” Starsky said between gritted teeth.

“How can you be sure? What if he doesn’t really care what happens to you?” 

Starsky grunted as he shifted position. “What kind of a question is that? He’s my . . . friend. He’ll come.”

“People can be funny sometimes,” the young man said, his tone pensive. “You think they care because they tell you so. They want you to think you can count on them to stick by you when the going gets tough, but then they get side-tracked by something else. You get pushed down on the list - forgotten. Or maybe they’re really ashamed of you but don’t want to say. So they use an opportunity like this to cut you loose.”

The young man crouched down on his heels, his boots sending small loose stones skittering down the steep grade. “I’m Danny, by the way. Who are you?”

“Dave Starsky,” Starsky spit out. _What’s up with this kid? What does he want from me?_ Starsky thought, his relief at someone having found him changing to frustration. His head swam and his breath labored like he was being pulled down through murky water. “Maybe some people are like that, but not Hutch. If someone treated you that way, I'm sorry.” All he wanted to do was get under a warm blanket, fall asleep, have the pain stop. He wanted Hutch.

“I have a friend like your Hutch. Name’s Marty. He’s got a house on Millcreek Road. A little white bungalow with one of those front porches people like to sit out on. Nothin’ fancy, but hell, it’s all we need and more. Better than I ever it had in the city. I loved it from the first. Couldn’t get enough of the fresh air. The city was suffocatin’ me. Ya know?”

“Sure, sure.” Starsky laid his head back on the cold ground and closed his eyes. His shivering had stopped some time ago. He couldn’t remember if that was bad or good. 

“I took to explorin’ ‘round here - like you do, I guess,” Danny went on, seeming oblivious to Starsky predicament. “I grew up on the streets and everything here was new to me. One day I climbed up on those rocks over there. I don’t know what I was thinkin’ exactly. Thought maybe I could fly. I sure as hell wanted to. Anyway, I ended up taking a mean header. Got banged up pretty good.” 

Danny paused, then continued in a voice seeped in regret. “Marty shoulda realized a punk like me don’t belong out here where everything is fresh and clean. Pure, even. I don’t blame him for bein’ embarrassed a’ me.”

“Can I tell ya somethin’?” he asked and Starsky grimaced. Normally he didn’t mind people spilling their guts to him, but he was growing desperate. At the moment it was his guts that were spilling. Danny didn’t wait for Starsky’s response. “The idea of me embarrassin’ Marty hurts worse than gettin’ my head slammed on those rocks,” he admitted. “I . . . I’m in love with him. Maybe he loves me, too. That’s sick, isn’t it?” 

_Is that what this is about? Some kind of midnight confessional?_ But Starsky wasn’t about to reprimand the kid, despite the pain he was in. He may have been a perfect stranger, but one who understood perfectly. “No, Danny. It’s not. Love is never sick. Fact is, this world doesn’t have enough of it.” 

“Truthfully, I figured Marty brought me out here to keep me from gettin’ my ass kicked. Saw right through my act. It was his way of protectin’ me. Even my parents threw me out.” 

A pain of another kind washed over Starsky. The ache of loneliness, confusion, and the need to hide who you really were. He knew exactly what Danny was going through. He wanted to help the kid, he really did. But first things first.

“Danny, please,” Starsky bit back a groan and closed his eyes as another spasm centering in his leg wracked him, “get my partner or I’m not gonna make it. I’m sure he’s looking for me. Maybe even going a little crazy. Then we can talk about all this later.” 

When he reopened his eyes, Danny was gone. 

ooOOoo

Something caused Hutch to jerk awake. He’d fallen asleep by the fire, LeGuin’s “Left Hand of Darkness” loose in his lap. The fire had burned down to glowing coals. “Starsky?” He said his first thought as he stood up and looked around. There was no answer. Hutch’s heart thrummed in his chest.

Then he saw something move in a corner near the door. “Who’s there?” Hutch demanded into the darkness, stepping to the drawer where he kept his Magnum. He reached for the familiar shape of the weapon but his fingers bumped into the flashlight instead. Shit. That meant Starsky didn’t have it with him. He was still out there somewhere. A sudden fear speared through him.

Hutch grasped the gun and swung around, pointing it the corner of the cabin.

“Are you going to shoot me?” A voice asked quietly. A young man - long-haired and thin, wearing an old army jacket and jeans - stepped from the shadows. 

“Who are you? What are you doing here?” Hutch demanded.

“I don’t mean to spy on you, but I think you forgot something important.”

“What are you talking about?” Hutch didn’t have time for games or intruders.

“Or maybe he’s _not_ so important. 

_Christ. Could he be talking about Starsky?_ Hutch eyed the young man, sizing him up. He might have been a thug but had no weapon that Hutch could see. Hutch figured he could easily overtake him in a physical confrontation. In fact, he seemed distinctly out of his element. “Where’s Starsky? If you know what happened to him - spill it _now._ ” His words were sharp enough to cut glass. 

"Isn't he’s an embarrassment to you, stumbling around out there in the dark.”

“He's more important than you can know.” Hutch said firmly.

"But if something happened to him, would you forget about him?” The young man persisted.

“Never,” Hutch bit out. “Now tell me where he is.” His grip tightened on the gun.

“You love him, don't you.” The man said, a shade of wonder, of longing, in the youthful voice. “Aren't you ashamed of that?”

 _Ashamed?_ Hutch froze. The young man talking about something more than simple friendship. He meant the way he and Starsky could communicate with a touch, finish each other’s sentences. The way they seemed to fill each other’s empty places, making them stronger together than they were apart. Hutch shook his head. Who was this kid - this hood - to be questioning him? He couldn’t be bothered with games if Starsky was in some kind of trouble. Because if something happened to Starsky . . . 

A cold fear seeped in his core, burning like liquid ice. “What anyone else thinks - including you - doesn’t matter as long as Starsky is safe.”

The young man nodded his head, slowly. “I get it,” he said. “You two belong together.” 

“Then tell me where he is.” Hutch’s eyes glinted like steel, letting the stranger know all patience was gone.

“He's at the bottom of the ravine about two miles up the Skyline Trail. And if you see Marty, tell him it wasn't his fault. It just wasn't our time.” Hutch grabbed the flashlight and pushed past him. “You better hurry,” the young man called out. “He doesn’t have much time.” 

Hutch didn’t bother to see if he was being followed, he was too busy racing up the trail. 

ooOOoo

Hutch drove the LTD even slower than usual along Millcreek Road, a secluded stretch not far from lake cabin number 36, wincing with every jostle caused by the rough pavement. Starsky sat in the back, his leg stretched out on the seat, watching out the windows and doing his best not to complain. It had been two weeks since Starsky’s unfortunate fall and Hutch’s just-in-time rescue. He’d found Starsky exactly where the intruder said he would, even though the young man had seemed to vanish into thin air. 

A local EMT crew had transported Starsky to a hospital where his shattered leg had been put back together. Everyone had high hopes that after six weeks in a cast and a couple months of physical therapy, Starsky would be good as new.

“Let’s try this one,” Starsky said, pointing to a white cottage set back from the road where a tabby cat was sunning itself on the front porch. It was the third such stop they’d made that morning. The homes in the area were few and far between, the kind favored by those who preferred the tranquility of the countryside to the bustle of urban life. Danny’s vague description of Marty’s place wasn’t much to go on, but Hutch figured that Starsky’s determination to thank the strange young man for the part he’d played in his rescue was all they’d need. 

After Starsky had come out of surgery and Hutch was satisfied that his partner would be okay, they’d exchanged their stories of what had happened that night. The hunt for the perfect shot, the late dinner, tumbling down the rocky cliff, falling asleep by the fire. “I’m so, so sorry about not coming to look for you sooner,” Hutch confessed. He rested his head at the side of Starsky bed while Starsky curled his fingers in his soft blond hair. 

“It’s not your fault, blondie. I was the one not payin’ attention.” Starsky could vividly imagine the remorse Hutch was feeling for not having gone after Starsky earlier, for dozing off then waking to find his partner still missing. Starsky had experienced the same burning emotion when he’d let Hutch go unaccounted for for a whole weekend only to find him strung out in an alley. The guilt at failing his partner was the stuff of nightmares.

When Hutch had told him about the long-haired intruder, Starsky assumed it must have been Danny, but they couldn’t seem to get their timelines straight. Starsky thought it was almost morning when he’d seen the young man. But it was full night when he’d disturbed Hutch at the cabin. He was barely conscious when Hutch had found him. In the end they decided it didn’t really matter, as long as everything had turned out okay.

Starsky had been dogged in his insistence to find and thank him, and his partner had agreed. Hutch had plenty to be grateful for, too. Together, they wanted to do something they could do to pay him back. 

Their knock at the door of the secluded little house was answered by a man in his late thirties or early forties with sandy blond hair and a weathered face. 

“We’re looking for a young man named Danny,” Starsky said, leaning heavily on his crutches.

The man studied them for a few seconds before responding carefully, “Danny’s not here.”

“So we do have the right house?” Hutch asked, hopeful that their wild goose chase might not have been in vane. Reassured that their skills as detectives were still in tact. 

“How do you know Danny?” The man asked.

“We ran into him a few weeks back. He helped me out of a jam,” Starsky nodded at his leg. “I took a bad fall while hiking on Skyline Trail. He came across me then told my partner here where to find me.”

“Was he wearing an army fatigue jacket? Had hair that kept falling into his eyes?” 

“That’s him,” Hutch said. “We’re detectives with the Bay City PD - I’m Detective Hutchinson and this is my partner, Detective Starsky,” he continued, “and we get a cabin by the lake from time to time. We just wanted to look him up so we could tell him thank you.”

The man’s expression ineffable. “Would you like to come in?” he offered, widening the door. “I’m Marty, by the way.” He offered his hand which they shook in turn.

The living room was modest but neat, with comfortable old furniture and a braided rug on the floor. A stone fireplace took up one wall and a bookshelf filled another. Late morning sun streamed in the windows. Starsky and Hutch went in and sat on the couch, Starsky extending his casted leg and Hutch taking his crutches.

“Danny mentioned you,” Starsky said, clearing his throat. 

“Did he now?” Marty responded stiffly. He seemed polite enough, but not much of a talker. As if he was more comfortable with books than people. So different from Danny - the mercurial, scruffy-haired city boy. 

Starsky glanced sideways at Hutch and Hutch laid a supportive hand on his knee. “He told me about the trouble he was - you were - having,” Starsky went on. “I thought maybe if we talked to him, Hutch and I, we could help.”

“I’m sure you’re intentions are good, but I’m afraid no one can help Danny. Or me.”

“Why’s that?” Starsky asked, his characteristic determination evident.

“Because Danny’s dead. He died fifteen years ago,” Marty told them flatly.

Starsky felt as though someone had doused him with cold water. He’d been so sure . . . “Then we can’t be talking about the same person. We’re sorry to have disturbed you.” Starsky gathered himself to rise, but Marty’s words stopped him.

“You have the right person, Detective. You see, Danny fell - or jumped - one night from the rocky point on that same trail. He died from his injuries. In the dark. All alone.” Marty’s voice held wrenching self-recrimination. “For the past fifteen years, some hikers who have gotten lost or hurt on that trai claim that someone matching Danny’s description came along to help them out. 

Hutch sat in stunned silence and Starsky’s pulse pounded. What kind of wild story was this?  
He only read up on Bigfoot and UFOs for fun. Maybe because he’d seen so much untimely death, restless spirits seemed too real a possibility. 

“Danny didn’t say anything about jumping,” Starsky found himself saying, despite his better judgment. Perhaps it was the homicide detective in him he never could quite shut off. “He only said he fell. Why would you think otherwise?” 

“We. . . we had an argument that night and he stormed off in the dark,” Marty explained, his cool front melting before them like ice cream set out too long. “I should have gone off after him. He was a city boy, ya know? But Danny also was a hot head. I figured we both needed time to think. But he never came back. A hiker found his body about three days later at the bottom of the ridge.” 

Marty slumped back in his chair, his head down. “I’ve been blaming myself ever since. I don't know what's worse. Thinking he jumped on purpose, or fell and died waiting on me. Thinking I didn’t care. But I did, I swear it.” When Marty looked back up at Starsky and Hutch, his eyes were glistening. “I thought I was giving him what he needed. Freedom. You know what they say, ‘if you love something, let it go’. . . ” 

Starsky and Hutch traded glances. “He must have been a good friend,” Starsky commented, not knowing what else to say. Not expecting to have walked into this emotional minefield.

Silence fell over the room. The ticking of the clock on the mantel became overly loud. The situation seemed surreal. But Marty’s pain was all too palpable and Danny’s midnight confession - what he could remember of it - had been so heartfelt.

“Danny said he loved it here,” Starsky spoke up again, trying to recall everything that he’d said. “That you gave him the only home he’d ever had. That you wanted to protect him.” 

“He told you that much?” Marty asked, surprised. “He’s usually not so loquacious when he shows up. Just helps people get back on the path.” Marty looked from Starsky to Hutch, taking in their proximity on the couch, their ease with each other. 

“I guess he must have took to you. You see, Danny was more than a good friend. But I wasn't ready for what we could have been,” he stated to them, suddenly candid. The shame the admission might once have brought apparently no longer had an effect when compared to his unfathomable loss. “He was right. I did want to protect him. The streets were no place for someone like him. He wasn't as tough as he looked. Can you imagine? Me - the bookworm, looking out for a streetwise kid like Danny? And in the end, I couldn’t.“

Love was a multi-faceted diamond - the hardest natural substance known to man. Breath-taking in its beauty, yet full of sharp edges. Valuable even if flawed.

“He didn’t jump, Marty. He fell.” Starsky softly. 

“What was that?” Marty asked hesitantly. 

“He didn't jump. It was an accident.” Starsky said again. 

“Is that what he told you?” Marty gripped the arms of the chair. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I'm as sure as I can be. I mean, I was in a tough spot that night and all I wanted was Hutch. I kept asking Danny for help, but I guess he needed to get his story out to someone who would listen. Someone he thought would understand.”

Marty nodded and sagged back in his chair. “I've been wanting to know the truth all these years. Praying I didn't drive him to death.” Marty gulped back a sob. “But I still let him down and I have to live with that.”

“I just remembered something,” Hutch said, leaning forward suddenly. “I didn’t pay attention at the time. All I could think of was getting to Starsky.” His hand strayed to Starsky’s knee almost unconsciously. “The kid who came to the cabin - if it was Danny - told me to ‘tell Marty it wasn’t his fault.’” 

Marty paled and clutched the arms of his chair. “He did?”

“Yeah, I remember now. Those were his exact words, but I ran right past him,” Hutch acknowledged. “I didn’t see him after that.”

Marty closed his eyes. “Thank you for telling me that, detective. Knowing he doesn't blame me makes his loss a little easier to bear. It’s hard enough living without him . . . without what could have been.” 

ooOOoo

Starsky thumbed through the thin file on the desk in front of him, his leg propped up a hard chair. Although it would be a long time before he was back on the streets, he couldn’t stay away from Parker Center. He could still sort files and type reports after all. And keep tabs on his brooding partner. 

Hutch walked in the detectives’ room and took a seat across from Starsky. Starsky could discern his partner’s questions as if he’d spoken them aloud. How’s the leg today? Are you still hung up on Marty’s ghost story? Along with the continual current of guilt running underneath. 

“What’s that?” Hutch asked instead. 

“The death certificate of one Daniel Ortez, dated April 6, 1963. Cause of death, blunt force trauma. According to his date of birth, he would have been twenty two. The records say he died from a fall while hiking. There were no witnesses.” Starsky looked up at him. “Hutch, this has to be our Danny.”

Hutch grabbed the file and flipped through it. “Our Danny? Really, Starsk? I thought we’d moved past that. This is a public record. Marty can look up an old death certificate, as easily as we can.”

Hutch had had a change of heart about the Skyline Trail incident after delving into the matter further. ‘Marty’ had turned out to be Martin Turnblau, a former adjunct professor at a local community college, turned science fiction writer who’d managed to get a few of his works published. “Marty was a nice enough guy, but he’s lost in his own private world,” Hutch said, laying down the file. “Don’t tell me you really believe in ghosts.”

“As I recall, you got pulled into that world right along with us, for a few minutes at least.” Starsky reminded him.

“Yeah, well the whole thing had me rattled. You were most likely hallucinating and I . . . well I was living a fucking nightmare. Marty just decided to play us for characters in his next story.” 

“Then how did you know where to find me?”

“I just . . .” Hutch reddened, then abruptly changed the subject “Here,” he said, pulling an envelope of photographs from his jacket pocket. “I had your film developed.” 

Starsky took his offering for the olive branch it was, even though it wasn't necessary. Hutch had gone back to get the Nikon and took it to a photography equipment store where he’d been told the camera itself was damaged beyond repair, but amazingly, the roll of film was salvageable. He’d gone ahead and ordered prints. 

Starsky took the photographs and spread them out on the desk between them. They were some of his best photos so far. The vivid pinks and golds of the evening sky that illuminating the mountains like distant sleeping giants, looked magical. Other worldly even.

“Good job, Starsk. Maybe you should fall on your ass more often.”

Starsky grinned. The endearing condescension was back, letting him know they were both going to be okay. And he was fairly pleased, himself, with the results of his artistic efforts. One of the prints in particular drew his attention and he picked it up to look at it more closely. He'd noticed a strange shadow on the horizon where it had no reason to be.

“What’s that there, Starsk?” Hutch asked, looking over at the photo. 

“I don’t know Hutch,” Starsky whispered, his voice strained. “How about you tell me?”

Hutch peered at it closer. It might have been a tree or even a rock, but the thin, misty shape looked remarkably human. 

**FIN**


End file.
